


To tell one's name

by zinjadu



Series: Wed to Blight [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Meditation, Training, and getting your ass kicked, girly hair braiding, makes good friendships, on the road
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 13:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15607617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: Another little on the road snippet, developing Caitwyn Tabris's friendships with Leliana and Sten before a certain Crow arrives on the scene.  Also, witness Caitwyn's complete lack of Getting It about Leliana's flirting.  Woosh.





	To tell one's name

“I don’t suppose I could ask you a favor, Leliana?” Caitwyn asked, breaking the quiet of the morning.  A morning hot enough that not even the birds were like to sing.  It was warmer on the west side of Lake Calenhad, even before the sun had cleared the horizon.  The heat suffused the air, and according to Sten it was always drier in the lee of a mountain range.  Off into the distance, Caitwyn could just barely make out the hazy forms of the Frostback Mountains rearing into the sky. 

 

“Of course, you have but to ask,” Leliana replied, for all appearances serene in the face of the heat.  Caitwyn offered her some bread and cheese to break their fast, and Leliana nibbled on the food daintily.  Idly, she wondered if all Orlesians ate like that.  It was nonsense, she knew that, but her brain felt fuzzy in this weather and kept taking odd turns.

 

“Could you watch out for Wynne while we travel?  I think I’m good enough to scout ahead on my own now, and I don’t want her falling behind.”  _Or collapsing again_ , went unvoiced.  The last thing Caitwyn wanted the death of the older mage on her conscience.   Being around Wynne felt familiar, for all that she was human, and Caitwyn found Wynne’s presence comforting as if she were listening to Elder Valendrian.

 

“Oh, yes, yes someone should make sure she is well.”  Leliana’s agreement was quick and earnest, and Caitwyn was grateful for it.  Bit by bit, these people were becoming less and less strange.  Less and less strangers and more and more _friends_.  Caitwyn allowed a brief, thankful smile to flicker over her face before tearing off a bit more bread and cheese for herself.   Then she sighed, lifting her braid off the back of her neck and still finding no relief from the heat.  It was only going to get worse as summer wore on.

 

“While I do very much like how you wear your hair, perhaps you would let me help you put it up?” Leliana asked.  The minstrel regarded Caitwyn with a thoughtful, evaluative air, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed as if already envisioning some ridiculous hairdo. 

 

“No birds,” Caitwyn said flatly, keeping her face as neutral as possible. 

 

“Oh no!  Of course not, I would never—”  Leliana broke off and her mouth went from an _O_ of surprise to a sly, gratified smile.  “You are _teasing_ me, aren’t you?”  Caitwyn allowed herself a small quirk of her lips, and Leliana laughed.  “You are!  Very well done.”

 

“Damn it, I almost had you.”  Caitwyn snapped her fingers as though chagrined, but then shrugged amiably.  Less and less strange, bit by bit.

 

“Yes, you certainly did,” Leliana mused, and then raised her eyebrows peremptorily.  She pointed at the space in front of her, but Caitwyn hesitated. 

 

It would mean letting someone close enough to touch her.

 

Leliana wasn’t dangerous.  No, that was incorrect.  She _was_ dangerous, and with more than just her bow even if she tried to hide that part of her.  But who didn’t hide a part of themselves?  Maybe Alistair, since Caitwyn didn’t think Maethor counted.  She was silent a fraction too long, and Leliana’s brows knit with sympathy.  That sympathy made Caitwyn want to kick herself for being so obvious and resolutely shifted to sit in front of Leliana.  It wasn’t like Leliana had any _designs_ on her.  Surely, she would have noticed _that_.

 

“It’d be nice to have it off my neck,” Caitwyn said, in only for something to say, to fill the silence she’d let stretch on too long.  Leliana hummed thoughtfully, and she could just picture the redhead tapping a finger to her lips.

 

“Let us see what we can do, then, yes?”  Leliana’s

 

Caitwyn hunched forward as she let Leliana play about with her hair.  The last time someone had helped her with her hair—no, best not to think about that.  Instead she closed her eyes and let Leliana unbraid her hair, though she winced as Leliana started to brush it out.  Caitwyn slowly let her back and shoulders relax as time went on and nothing bad happened.

 

“This seems unnecessary.”  Caitwyn cracked one eye open to see Sten looming over them, frowning.  He always frowned, but she was learning to tell his frowns apart.  This one likely meant: _you are being frivolous instead of training_. 

 

“Sten,” Leliana began, her tone disparaging.  Caitwyn, however, had started to figure him out.  _Reasoning_ with him didn’t work, not really.  But _telling_ him often did.  She raised an eyebrow at him and kept her face composed. 

 

“It’ll mean the darkspawn can’t grab my hair, and it’ll keep me from overheating when we train.  Leliana will be done right quick, I’m sure.”  Caitwyn kept her words sharp and crisp, though she had to remind herself to slow down so the others could understand her.  Sten’s frowned deepened for a moment, and then he nodded.

 

“Very well.  Find me when you are, hrm, prepared.”  With that, the giant qunari stalked off across the camp.  Wynne and Alistair both glanced in her direction with their eyebrows raised in mild amusement.  Caitwyn shrugged, and they both went back to their respective breakfasts.  Morrigan was, as usual, at a remove, still refusing to interact with anyone if she didn’t have to.  Though Maethor was snuffling around her packs again, and Caitwyn hoped he wasn’t trying to sneak another half-eaten rabbit in there.

 

“That was a bit abrupt, but I suppose that is who Sten is,” Leliana mused as she tugged and twisted Caitwyn’s hair into some kind of more heat-friendly shape.  Then Leliana gave her hair a final pat and clapped her hands together.  “There, all done.  What do you think?”

 

“Um.”  Caitwyn cautiously felt at her hair and found that Leliana had managed to work her hair into something like a braided crown.  She tested the hold of it with a little tug, and it felt sturdy enough.  “It’s good?  I think.” 

 

“I do hope so.  Now, you mustn’t keep Sten waiting or I am certain he will frown at you some more,” Leliana teased.  Stood, shaking the pins and needles out of her legs, and grinned sharp as knives.

 

“Oh, anything but that,” she said, as dry as the air that morning.  Leliana’s bell-like giggles followed her while she sought out Sten.

 

* * *

 

Sten’s massive two-handed sword swung at her in a vicious arc, and Caitwyn ducked underneath the sweep of the blade.  It whooshed through the air over her head, and then she sprang back up on the balls of her feet and leapt backwards drawing a bead on him with her bow.  Without so much as a grunt of effort, Sten threw his shoulder and twisted his torso to avoid the blunted arrow and he closed on her again with two quick strides. 

 

He was suddenly so close, but she wasn’t some scared girl anymore and she didn’t freeze.  Stilling her breathing and heartrate, spiking high in the hot summer morning, Caitwyn let her left leg collapse underneath her and she curled her back to roll to the side of him as he took another swing at her.  His momentum should have carried him to her right while she rolled to her left, but he pivoted sharply and reared up to bring the flat of the blade down hard across her back.

 

The impact jarred her whole body, knocking the air out of her lungs and sending her face into the dirt.  She tasted the copper tang of blood in her mouth and was glad of the armor she wore, but she knew better than to simply lie there.  Rolling onto her back, she saw him rear up and prepare to bring the sword down on her again.  She lashed out with her foot, kicking Sten’s knee hard and bringing him down to her level.  He kept himself partially upright by bracing on his sword, but now his head was in reach of her and she pivoted to bring her other foot hard across his face.  She let the motion carry her and she cartwheeled back onto her feet, dagger at the ready.

 

Sten’s grey features remained as impassive and stone-like as ever, but there was a glimmer of approval in his strange purple eyes.

 

They squared off for the space of a heartbeat, and then he spat a bloody gob onto the dirt.  Caitwyn did the same, and she offered him her hand to help him stand.  He waved it off, though not out of irritation at her finally landing a solid hit on him.  Rather, she thought it was his own sense of honor that made him refuse help, even if offered in good faith.

 

“You are becoming less predictable,” Sten said, voice as even as ever.  Then he considered her for a long moment while she waited for another critique.  Rather than point out all her mistakes, however, he inclined his head with a touch more respect than she had seen before.  “That is good.”

 

“I’d assumed as much, but the clarification is helpful.”  Caitwyn kept her expression and tone bland, but she knew Sten detected the sarcasm regardless.  For someone so stoic, his ability to pick up on dry humor was unexpected.  She paid the price for her jibe, however, and he grumbled.

 

“First form, then you may have your injuries tended to,” he ordered.  Caitwyn knew better than to protest, and instead she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly while she let her shoulders relax.  Then she opened her eyes and smoothly moved through the form that Sten had taught her, letting her mind wind down and focused only on the precision of every move, the exact placement of her feet and arms while she kept up a stately pace, not too fast but not too slow either. 

 

Her mind bent to her body’s motions, the rest of the morning fell away. She ignored the rumble in her belly that persisted in spite of having eaten and the belated chirping of the ground sparrows that followed them for crumbs.  There was only the next move and the next and the next.  Her attention narrowed down, she nearly jumped when Sten shifted her shoulders into the correct position.  She’d been too square against her angle of attack, and he made her shift to a more oblique profile like one of those fancy, short-blade fighters she’d seen around Denerim’s docks.

 

If he noticed her surprise, he said nothing about.  Instead, all he did was grunt darkly at her failure to be perfect.  She could train with Sten, could take a hit and strike back without a qualm, but a simple, non-threatening move of her shoulders threatened to take her composure away from her.

 

“Sit.”  Another order, but Caitwyn turned to see Sten sitting with his legs folded underneath him, regarding her calmly.  She searched his face for disapproval, but found nothing in the straight line of his mouth or the unwavering nature of his gaze.  Instead, she had the sense that he _saw_ her, in a way few did.

 

The clarity of his gaze was unnerving, jangling, jarring along her awareness, but she had nowhere to hide.  More, she knew that trying to hide would call more attention to something she very much wanted to ignore, so she sat.  She mimicked his posture, like she had that night after she’d dreamed of the Archdemon, and the rising waters of her fear abated.

 

“Breathe with me,” he said, and she closed her eyes.  His breathing was measured, in and out, in and out, and Caitwyn matched him.  In the stifling heat of the morning, not even a breeze stirred, and the sun began to beat down on them.  The walk they would have ahead of them would be arduous and sweaty, and she knew she’d be covered in a fine patina of dust and grime before noon. 

 

And yet, the incipit panic that had threatened to drown her bare seconds before ebbed away, breath by breath, beat by beat.  Away, away, away.

 

“You must remain in control of your mind, Warden,” Sten told her, his low, deep voice filling her ears.  Her shoulders relaxed and her hands unclenched.  She had not even realized that they had balled into fists.  “Your mind is your greatest weapon.  It is where you will first achieve victory or suffer defeat, and it must be kept sharper than any blade.”

 

Caitwyn opened her eyes and gazed out over the rolling hills, the sun turning the grass dry and yellow even before midsummer.  Here, green was rare, and she missed the cooler shelter of the trees on the western shore of the lake.  Mama had said the same thing to her _your wits will protect you better than a blade, little shadow_.

 

The wisdom of her mother echoed in the tones of the giant qunari brought the barest curve of a smile to her lips.  “Wits before blades,” Caitwyn murmured.  Sten huffed, though not entirely without approval. 

 

Less and less the stranger these people, even those who were the strangest among them all.

 


End file.
